


Her Greatest Trial

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7217020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Sansa, life without Arya would be bliss. Wouldn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Greatest Trial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cryptographic_Delurk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptographic_Delurk/gifts).



Sometimes, when Sansa envisioned her life as a song, she tried to decide what would be her greatest trial. Maidens in songs always had greatest trials. Sometimes they had wicked parents, or were shut up in towers, or were sacrificed to be eaten by dragons. Sansa didn't always agree with her parents, but she didn't consider them wicked, and she liked her tower room, which looked out onto the Kingsroad, stretching off to the south. And, to Bran's dismay, Maester Luwin had told them that there weren't any dragons anymore.

She didn't even have a scheming uncle; Uncle Benjen was perfectly nice and had forsaken all lands and titles when he had joined the Night's Watch, which meant he couldn't even challenge her for Winterfell, if something happened to Father and Robb and Bran and Rickon. 

Thus, the only possible thing that could be Sansa's greatest trial was her sister Arya, who was loud, wild, and would not sit still. 

What Sansa couldn't understand was how Arya could be her true sister. 

"You don't look like us," she had told Arya once. "You look like Jon, and he's nothing but a bastard."

That made the most sense in Sansa's mind. Arya must be a bastard and only her half-sister. That would mean that Sansa's real siblings were her three trueborn brothers, and she would not have to reconcile Arya's place in the family. 

"I'm not a bastard," said Arya hotly. 

"Yes, you are." Sansa liked the idea more and more. "You're Arya Snow. You can run wild with Jon and the dogs and no one would care."

Even though Arya liked nothing better than to run wild with Jon and the dogs, she glowered at Sansa. "Well, you're… You're Sansa Snow!"

"I am not!" Sansa exclaimed. It was easy enough to picture Arya as a secret bastard, but not Sansa herself. Even though she knew it was wrong, she pushed Arya as hard as she could, sending her falling back into the mud. 

Arya's hands shot out and grabbed Sansa's ankles. The next thing she knew, she was just as covered in mud as Arya was, grappling for her face.

"Girls!" The sharp voice rang out across the courtyard in a tone she had never heard before. 

Sansa froze. She was covered head to foot in mud. It was all over her dress, in her hair, and under her fingernails. Arya was still scowling at her, though she looked quite at home in the mud.

Father was striding toward them, looking stern. Sansa's stomach dropped. He had never looked at her like that, nor raised his voice. He had done it plenty of times to Arya or the boys, but never to Sansa. 

"Come here, girls." His voice was low and even. Sansa supposed he did that so that you had to be quiet to listen to him.

They stood up reluctantly. Sansa certainly didn't want to stay in the mud, but she almost did because it would be better than hearing whatever Father had to say.

"I _wish_ I was a bastard," Arya spat under her breath. "I like Jon better."

Sansa's face burned as she approached Father. 

"Arya," he said. "Go and change your clothes. Sansa, I want to talk to you."

"But she—"

"I will talk with Arya later."

She watched Arya stalk off, head down, and wished desperately that she had been dismissed like that. She didn't complain about it, though. That would have been worse. Arya had to wait for Father, in her room, for as long as he decided to take. 

"Come with me, Sansa," Father said.

Nervously, she followed him across the courtyard and into the godswood. Instantly, the sun seemed to vanish and Sansa shivered. The change in temperature did not appear to affect Father. 

"I'm sure you know that's not how you should be treating your sister," he said at last. 

"I know, Father," Sansa said in a small voice. Her thoughts were a mixture of guilt, shame, and lingering anger at Arya as she struggled to figure out how it might be _her_ fault somehow. "But she's impossible!"

He smiled. "I know what it's like to have a little sister like that."

Sansa's mouth dropped open. Father rarely spoke about their aunt Lyanna, though Sansa knew who she was. She had been carried off by Prince Rhaegar, and King Robert had risen in rebellion to save her. Sansa thought it would be very romantic to have a lord who loved you enough to do that, though she didn't want to be carried off and murdered for it.

"She's just so wild," she said.

"Aye." He smiled fondly. "That she is. I daresay she doesn't find being good as easy as you do."

At least that was good, Sansa decided. She would much rather be the way she was than be like Arya. She didn't think being good was hard at all. "We'll never get along," she said. "Arya just doesn't want to."

He laughed. "I don't think you do either."

Perhaps that was true. Even on the rare occasions Arya would join her and Jeyne to sit and talk and sew, Sansa found herself wishing Arya would go away. 

"Maybe not," she admitted.

"Can you promise me one thing, Sansa?"

She looked up at him, surprised. "Certainly, Father."

"Try to enjoy this time. You may not appreciate each other now, but perhaps one day, when you are women grown and married and living far from each other, you might miss her."

Sansa had never thought about that. In all her fantasies of being grown and married to a gallant knight or dashing lord, Arya was never a factor. She tried to imagine being far from her family, including Arya. 

"Maybe," she said cautiously. Perhaps one day, when their husbands were both Robb's bannermen, she and Arya would see each other at weddings and harvest festivals, or perhaps just visiting. Growing up would change Arya, and she would be a lady like Mother.

Then, she thought about what might happen if Arya married a Northern lord, but Sansa went far away. She had always wanted to see the South, but if she married a Reachlord, would they ever see each other again? That was an unpleasant thought.

She did not _like_ Arya, exactly, but she certainly couldn't imagine life without her. 

"Just keep an open mind," Father said. "You might change your thinking as you get older. Imagine how you would feel if you wanted to tell her something important, but it was too late."

"I understand, Father," she said, even though she didn't totally. 

He hugged her tight and she squeezed back, hoping he understood her promise. She would _try_ to keep an open mind. 

But, she decided, as she went back to her room, she would _not_ apologize to Arya. It would take ages to fix the rip in her skirt and _that_ was all Arya's fault.


End file.
